to the teacher that made a difference:

we were 11 when you first walked in,
so we met five years ago,
but we left one year later
with a naivety only a 12 year old like me could ever possess

In this four years, I am
no longer as simple-minded,
maybe I've grown to become a lot more cynical
that I would like to admit
But one thing still stand true to me
You made a huge difference in my life

I wonder a lot about you sometimes
how are you?
On days like these, when dark clouds loom over
I remember the word sinister
But I don't remember the definition
But when you told me "Good work!"
Do you know?
It was the first time in 5 years
I was finally good at something.
I wonder what you saw in us,
and I still do
Because no one; not even our own parents
thought we would ever amount to anything
And every time I pinned up my hair,
I would be reminded of you
and how you would tease me
about the hair that would fall over my eyebrows

In these four years,
I remember more moments,
more occasions where
I have hurting you
more than making you glow in pride
and maybe in one of our reunions
you saw the burn marks across my hand
that were just too straight and too close
too deliberate
to just be an accident

And in this four years,
You decided to give up teaching
to try photography instead
Maybe you decided that it was better
to capture the moments
Instead of creating an illuminating tomorrow
that might not even come true in the first place
or maybe you thought you didn't had a place in mine
or maybe you thought it would hurt less if you didn't
and maybe you've never thought of it
in this way
until you saw the scars travelling across my arm
telling its own story

And if you were here right now
would I still be a disappointment?
I suppose it would not matter in the first place
not when you don't think you deserve a role in my life
But I would still..
I'm sorry,
and thank you
for ever existing
in the first place

you are beautiful:
like the wind that comes with falling rain;
coffee at 3am;
and scars across your arm

the internet says that
I am at a vulnerable time of my life right now
because I am somewhere
between a child and an adult
and that is a lot like how
a caterpillar wrapping itself around silk walls of cocoon
that I like to call society
because
no matter how long it remains silent
a butterfly would always struggle and slowly
emerge from its own silky white cage in time to come
and that comforts me because
in real life,
I am a piece of glass everyone looks right through
and with no one that I truly feel a connection to,
I find myself standing at the sidelines
and maybe I watch too much anime,
but I want someone to call me their friend
and not give me a chance to doubt their meaning of friendship
and consequently whether or not
I really mean something to them
and maybe I’m still suffering from 8th grade syndrome,
which is a Japanese slang for people, nearing adolescence who
think they are special members of society
and I used to believe that I have magical abilities
and I am the only one capable of fighting against an
age old evil
and I still know that to be true,
but now,
I know that I am just fighting against my own hormones
the same ones that cause my face to turn red at the mention of my poetry
and the same ones that cause outbreaks on my face during exam periods
and the same ones that make me feel so alone at 3a.m in the night
and I know I'm not special, not even close
but I want to feel like
I've been good enough
at least once in my life
{d.c}

loving and being loved
breaking hearts and broken hearts
I had learnt a long time ago
they were
different sides to the same coin

Just like how falling in love
Is going bungee jumping,
forgetting the rope and
by the time you realize,
you are 10 feet under,
immobilized, water filling your lungs
There's no security, and 99.9% you
end up with tears and splinters in your heart

And the
"who"s, "what"s and "why"s
don't really matter because love
isn't breaking news
and there's no title, much less
headlines

and when hearts are broken,
the breaking question is: who has it worse?
the one leaving or the one who stayed
but even that doesn't matter
not when both are left crushed,
life knocked out of them

{d.c}

The first time someone broke my heart
was the day I cried for 2 hours straight
to my "boy best friend"
shocked into silence by my tears,
he repeated "it'll be okay"
over and over again
I didn't believe him.

And my first taste of abandonment
were very much like burns while
playing with fire
but instead of raw, throbbing fingers
the pain came in the form of
tears, its taste salty from
pent up resentment and hurt
it scarred me
and left me weary of those who approached

The first time I broke someone's heart,
we were approaching our sixth month
the brief exchanges of apologies and goodbyes
left me short of breathe
and i might not have 'loved' him
but the dull, throbbing ache 'goodbyes' left me
made me wonder otherwise

and the first time I found out what it meant to let go
it left me with a chill that would not go away, not
even if i stood under the blazing sun,
hours on ends
and when tears failed me,
I turned to shiny blades and pain
that dulled the throbbing of my heart
Promising myself, I would never find another
I holed myself up against anyone that stood too close,
masking the vulnerability that was crystal clear to everyone else

And the first time I fell in love
It was with a boy whose silence spoke louder than his words ever could
and though his past was tear-stained and broken,
he was not.

And my first taste of real love
did not give me butterflies in my stomach
but the silent strength to
heal the damage I afflicted to myself after
every tear,
every pain,
every heartbreak.
I could begin to love myself again.

And yes, I know
"Happy endings" only happen in childrens' book
and we will find hurt and anguish in every corner
we expect to find bliss and happiness
as if mocking our efforts of contentment
but each time i'm close to tears,
I'll remember how perfectly our hands fit,
and I guess that will be enough,
for me, at least

{d.c}

And I will spend today, in my bed
tangled together in sheets
and warmth
because it’s a raging downpour in my mind
and a hole in my heart
where our memories now hide